


Defiance

by OlegGunnarsson



Category: Just Cause (Video Games), Just Cause 3
Genre: Catholic, Catholic Rosary, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Lumber - Freeform, Revenge, Russian Lumber Mill because Medici, Surviving under a dictatorship, just cause
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlegGunnarsson/pseuds/OlegGunnarsson
Summary: A mourning father risks his life for the only revenge he needs.





	

“This stop isn’t on our schedule, Pedro.” 

Pedro Alvarez turned to his younger assistant and smiled. “It takes 20 minutes to drive to Surpicco. We have a full hour. Yuri always adds extra time for checkpoints and bored guards. And for stops like this one.” 

Juan looked at the old cottage, set among the fields of Insula Fonte. Then he glanced at the back of the truck, where stacks of lumber waited for delivery. “I don’t think we brought enough wood, that cottage was old before Di Ravello took over.” 

“Maybe. But you don’t need to tell its owner.” Pedro nodded to the old man in the doorway, watching them. “He built it himself, you see.” Now Pedro gave the carpenter a wave, and he took his walking stick in hand before hobbling slowly over to their truck. 

  
\-----

_ The Sergeant was, if not apologetic, at least politely reserved. It was obvious that he found this duty distasteful, however necessary his superiors thought it to be. It helped that he had grown up in the North, escaping to military service before the night of the bonfires. What would he have said if he had known this family?  _

_ “Senor, I am required to inform you that your son has been found guilty by military tribunal of treason against the Republic of Medici, said treason occurring during a state of emergency. By military decree, he was executed at the conclusion of the trial.”  _

_ The old man kept his eyes on the truck behind the Sergeant. His eyes did not go to the three other soldiers nearby, weapons at the ready. One had almost taken his cane, before the sergeant waved him off.  _

_ The Sergeant continued. “By order of General Di Ravello, the remains of traitors are incinerated and scattered, that their… that their rotting husks might never again trouble the good people of Medici.”  _

_ Only now did the man look at the Sergeant. The man’s eyes were wet and filled with sadness - and with no trace of the defiance the Sergeant had been expecting. The old man’s voice was gentle, and did not waver.  _

_ “Please thank General Di Ravello for sending you to tell me of this in person. Surely a less enlightened leader would have sent only a letter.”  _

_ The Sergeant’s eyes widened at this, and the old man paused. “Was there something else, lad?” _

_ Goddammit, thought the Sergeant. He doesn’t know.  _

_ “Sir, under the same military decree, all homes and lands of traitors are considered forfeit. When we arrived at the property to enforce this decree, your daughter in law…” The Sergeant broke off as the old man hobbled forward, going directly to the truck.  _

_ In the bed of the truck was an old tarp. Three shapes were visible underneath, one larger than the other two. A lock of long, dark curls peeked out from the edge of the tarp.  _

  
\-----

The carpenter ran his hands gently along the grain of the wood. This piece would do, he thought. 

“This one. And this one. And this one. And that one.” Pedro made a small mark in blue ink on the end of each chosen board, then - as he had done many times before - on a fifth board of his own choice. The carpenter nodded in agreement - Pedro, too, had chosen well. As Pedro started to gather the marked boards, the Carpenter turned to the younger man.

“Juan, take these five into the shop.” 

Determined to be done with this most unusual delivery, Juan stacked the boards on his shoulder. As he walked toward the old shed behind the house, Pedro turned to the old man. “Please forgive my assistant, sir. He is young.” 

The carpenter shook his head, sadly. “No one is that young. But someday he’ll understand. When he is ready, he will wake up.” Watching the young man enter the workshop, the Carpenter sighed. “Sooner than you think, perhaps.”  

  
\-----

_ Two glasses sat upon the desk. Yuri Sergeievich Korsakov looked at them for a moment, before filling one with Vodka and the other with Grappa. The sounds and smells of the lumber mill threatened to drown out all thought of conversation, but today the old Russian did not mind the noise. Neither did his guest.  _

_ Korsakov took the Vodka, holding it for a moment. “For all the pride I have in our work, old friend, it pains me that the chairs we build get used for so short a time. Then they are empty.” Then he raised the vodka to his friend, who had taken the glass of Grappa for himself.  _

_ “To empty chairs,  _ _ tovarishch. To your family.”  _

_ The Carpenter silently returned the toast. Then they drank. Setting his glass down, Korsakov stood once more. He had always been one to pace. To his surprise, the carpenter was the first to speak.  _

_ “Yuri, how many signs do you make for the government each year?”  _

_ Yuri turned away, looking down on the shop floor. “How did you know?”  _

_ “Oh, please. Di Ravello has been building base after base in the north, ever since he took over. What other lumber mill could put out enough signs to keep up?” There was no bitterness in the man’s voice, but Yuri could hear the venom when his friend mentioned the General’s name.  _

_ Yuri sighed. “We supply about 75% of the government’s sign needs. Wood is cheap and plentiful, and signs are cheaper when you buy by the thousand. Even so, they are my biggest customer.” He turned to look at his friend. “Why? It’s no secret, but given what has happened... ?” _

_ The carpenter smiled softly at his Russian friend. They had done business together, on and off, for years. Yuri had come to him for help with prototyping designs, and soon they had become fast friends. And Yuri’s son Viktor had been his grandson’s Godfather. That’s why he came here, after all.  _

_ “Yuri, if you’re running that many signs in a batch, how many do you toss? Bad paint, bad grain, machine cock-ups? How many go in the bin?”  _

_ The Russian thought to himself. “Maybe one in 50. But most of those we usually repaint and reuse. We only toss maybe a third of those for bad wood or other defects.”  _

_ “Spasiba,” The Carpenter smiled. “Yuri, I have an idea. And I may need your help.”  _

  
\-----

Pedro and the old man turned to watch Juan approach. 

“Your lumber is on the workbench, Senor,” Juan said. His voice had none of the impatience it had revealed earlier, and his face had what could only be described as a thoughtful look - which surprised Pedro, as he had only known Juan to be thoughtful about wine and women.  

The Carpenter, seeing the look on Pedro’s face, smiled - a rare twinkle in his eye. “So, Juan, what did you think of my project?” 

Pedro’s eyes grew wide. Juan was new to the lumber business, and hadn’t quite won Yuri’s full trust just yet. This side trip had not been planned as a test of loyalty, but that’s what it was shaping up to be.  

Juan’s eyes registered his surprise as well, but for a much different reason. He knew what he had seen, and what it meant. One word from him, and at best he’d doom his boss and his boss’s boss to death - alongside this kind old man. 

The Carpenter’s smile never left his face as he hobbled over. A hand went to Juan’s shoulder. 

Juan ignored the tears on his cheek as he spoke. “Senor, would you build one for my brother?” 

The Carpenter didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked Juan in the eyes. “How long?” 

“6 years.” 

“Of course, my friend.” And with that, he reached up to hug the now sobbing delivery boy. 

Pedro realized he had been holding his breath. Letting the tension drain, he began walking to the truck. Juan would not be long - now that he knew their mission. After all, they had a schedule to keep. 

  
\-----

_ Breaking down the sign had been the hard part. The Carpenter had chuckled at the sign’s text - it had been intended for a landfill, proudly proclaiming it a dumping ground for “anti-medician culture.” Once it was apart, it took virtually no time at all.  _

_ He had not been sure of his design, a rarity for a man who had been cutting wood as long as he could count.  Three sides, surely - to protect from the wind. He doubled the base, to make the structure sturdier. On top, a roof like a barn - or like his workshop.  _

_ No, he thought. Like my son’s home. A gentle slope, even peak. Yes, that will do. Now, the hard part.  _

_ From his vest pocket, where it sat next to his pencils and a straightedge, the Carpenter pulled a small crucifix. Holding it for a moment, he turned the silver cross over in his hands. “Maria” was its only inscription. _

_ Then he placed it on the wood and gently traced its shape. Once he cut this piece, he would have a template - and the cross would go back to its place, always at his side.  _

_ He had considered legs, but that might not work - he had no idea where this would end up. So he cut several small supports and tied them with twine. If they were needed, he wanted them at hand.  _

_ Turning the base over in his hands, he smiled. Ocean blue, just like the old Medici flag, with its proud bull emblem. Taking the hammer in his hands, he drove four nails into the base.  _

_ Once you knew the dimensions, and provided you could read, building one of these from a kit would be easy. The Carpenter smiled, for the first time since he had began this little project. Out loud, he spoke softly. “I wonder if Yuri knows what I’ve gotten him into now…”  _

  
\-----

Father Dominick knew that the old carpenter didn’t drive any longer, so his request for a ride up the mountain was not unusual. He visited the graves of his family once a month, and oftener if he could. 

The Carpenter laid flowers at the headstone of his only son, then prayed a rosary in honor of the four who had died that day - his son, of course, as well as his beautiful wife and their two boys. 

Dominick emerged from the church just as the Carpenter finished. Walking over, he offered the old man his elbow. Together they strolled to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the flowered valley below. Silently, the priest handed the Carpenter his lighter. 

Turning to his right, he found the small blue structure, with its small wooden cross atop a gently sloped roof. Lighting each of the four candles within, the Carpenter spoke softly to himself. 

“Medici honors your sacrifice,” he said simply. 

When the Carpenter turned away from the shrine, Dominick shook his hand, then pulled him into a hug. “How many of these have you built, Sebastian?” 

The Carpenter sighed sadly, and looked back at the shrine. “One hundred and twenty seven,  Father, each one a prayer for peace - and freedom. Even now I have three more ready in my workshop.”

Father Dominick nodded, but could not keep himself from cautioning his friend. “You know what Di Ravello will do if he ever finds out who shames him for his deeds?” 

A nod. “But that is ok, my friend. I died a long time ago. The worst the General can do is finish the job.” 

The carpenter looked back at the shrine. “But not before I have finished mine.”

  
  



End file.
